


Red Lights Over the Water

by SkyisGray



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: 2014 SteveBucky Bookclub, Alternate Universe, M/M, Sex workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyisGray/pseuds/SkyisGray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes isn't a very good stripper.  Steve Rogers isn't a very good hooker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Lights Over the Water

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt was so hard! I don’t have a favorite AU; I made a list of nine favorite AUs, and I could have kept going. But then I decided that I always get extra giddy for prostitute fics, and I’ve never written one, so…

Bucky isn’t a very good stripper.

It’s just not his thing.  He feels like he’s an uncoordinated adolescent back in gym class, elbows going here and knees ending up there, bobbing his head to the beat of the over-synthesized pop music spilling from the speakers.  It’s loud enough to feel the bass in his temple, but not loud enough that he can’t make sugary, empty conversation with the men who grin lasciviously at him while they pretend their hands slipped while sliding folded bills into his shorts. 

“Hey, I’m Jack, what’s your name?”

“Are you having fun tonight?”

“How’s your day been so far?” 

The more interest he feigns, the bigger the bills that he scoops out of his sequined, camo-printed shorts on his breaks.  Those shorts embarrass the hell out of him, but the boss thinks it would be sacrilege to send his boys out without some bling, and Bucky’s stuck in the camo aesthetic until he finally ponies up the cash to get his old 107th tattoo lasered off his bicep.  

Combine his dislike of his work uniform and his shitty dancing skills with a burning hatred for Cascada, a crippling aversion to small talk, and that thing that happens when a strobe light blinds him and he momentarily forgets where he is and what’s happening around him; the end result is a pretty sub-par stripper who consistently gets ranked at the bottom of the tip board. 

The only reason Bucky’s still here is because there’s a second board.  It isn’t labeled, in case the vice cops come sniffing around, and its ranking get adjusted weekly rather than nightly.

Bucky’s almost always at the top of that board.  He’s not any prouder of that fact than he’s ashamed of his failings elsewhere in the business.  It’s just something that he knows, and that everyone else knows too. 

Bucky Barnes, or Jack as he’s known around the club, isn’t a very good stripper; but he’s a goddamn dream of a whore. 

 

“Hey, Jack,” Brock calls to him while he’s getting ready that night.  Bucky’s already in a grumpy mood; he’s crammed into a corner of the break room counter trying to put some gel in his hair while seven other sequined guys fight for the mirror to put their eyeliner on, or rub body glitter into their pecs, or change their tongue rings, or whatever their shtick is.  Bucky usually just goes for carefully messy hair and a little bit of fruity chapstick – it cuts down on the time he has to spend elbowing his fellow strippers out of his way to see his reflection.

“What do you want, Brock?” Bucky asks.  He doesn’t say it unkindly, just inquisitively.  Brock and Bucky aren’t each other’s biggest fans, but Brock’s never fucked him over with a client, and Bucky’s always delivered. 

Brock isn’t technically an employee of The Baron’s Club, but his paychecks and his instructions come directly from Zemo.  Cynthia manages the club part of the operation, and Brock manages the business at the pay-by-the-hour motel next door.    

So Bucky isn’t surprised that Brock needs him for something, but he is surprised that Brock’s coming to him at the beginning of his club shift, before he’s sifted through the throngs of uncouth men and enticed some of them to take a walk over to the motel with him. 

“You still looking for a roommate?” Brock asks, and it’s the last thing Bucky was expecting.

“Uh, yeah.  The last one wouldn’t fuckin’ leave the forbidden fruit alone, no matter how straight he swore he was on craigslist.” 

Brock raises an eyebrow at that.

“It’s craigslist,” he says like that’s all the explanation that Bucky should need.  And it kind of is. 

“Why you asking?” Bucky questions as he gives his hair one last tousle and pulls his sticky hands away.  He looks for the towel that he threw on the counter not five minutes ago, but it’s long gone.  Fucking strippers. 

“New hire starting tomorrow.  He’s transferring from one of Zemo’s other clubs, and he doesn’t have a place to live yet.”

“Come on, man, I don’t want to live with another stripper,” Bucky says as he nonchalantly wipes the gel off his hands by using Tucker’s back as a hand towel.  He gets a furious, mascara-intensified glare for his troubles. 

“It wouldn’t be for that long.  Just, give him a place to stay for a month.  He can find another set-up in that time, and you can find another experimental fuckhead on craigslist.”  Bucky sighs. 

“Is this a casual request or a mandatory suggestion?” he asks.

“Zemo wanted this kid to start out with someone on the inside,” Brock admits.  Mandatory suggestion it is. 

“I think there’s some concern about his transition,” Brock adds.  “He was really successful at his last club, but it was just the club set-up.  They didn’t have the hooking business on the side.”

“Uh, does he know what he’s transitioning into?” Bucky asks as he drops his jeans and steels himself to put on the gaudy, scratchy shorts. 

“He knows, but apparently he’s never done both before,” Brock tells him with an eye roll.  The message is clear; Brock is annoyed when employee vetting happens over his head. 

“Is he coming in tonight?”

“Just to sign some paperwork and get a feel for the club.”  Bucky uncaps his Carmex and spreads it over his lips before throwing the chapstick and the jeans into his backpack and zipping it up.  He kicks it out of the way and grabs a breath mint from the bowl by the door.

“Have him come see me, and I’ll talk about rent and keys and shit like that with him.”  Brock nods and they both leave the break room together; Brock to check on things at the motel with his dignity intact, and Bucky towards the flashing lights and simpering female voice over botched electronica. 

 

He’s gyrating on his preferred platform by the bar.  He likes that he’s basically in the corner, because he gets plenty of traffic from the bar set-up, but no one can stand behind him.  He doesn’t mind being looked at like he’s a piece of meat, but he needs to know where all those greedy eyes are at all times. 

He’s doing the move where he puts his hands behind his head and tries to roll his body like a wave.  He’s not very inspired; he sees Logan doing it across the club.  Fuck dancing; someone really needs to come up and whisper the night’s password in his ear. 

Tonight’s password is “satin,” like the entire staff is pulling a huge prank on the poor johns who will have to contend with abrasive cotton sheets when they fork over the cash.

Bucky’s arms get tired, so he waves them in front of his body like he’s doing the breaststroke.  He jerks his hips in time with the Calvin Harris song and pouts a little bit, noticing the attention that his duck lips draw from the surrounding patrons. 

A man old enough to be Bucky’s shithead, homophobic father steps up with a leer and a twenty.  Bucky winks and licks his lips while the man reaches up and slips the bill into his shorts.  Completely unsurprisingly, he ‘accidentally’ palms Bucky’s cock in doing so. 

“Thanks, gorgeous.  I’m Jack, what’s your name?” Bucky asks.  He should win a fucking Oscar for his attempts to look like he’s interested in the receding hairline winking up at him. 

“Kev-Donovan,” the man says, coming up with a fake name entirely too late.  “You know any other moves, Jack?” 

“Baby, I know so many moves,” Bucky tells him as he bends at the waist and tries to find something to do with his hands.  He ends up resting them on his kneecaps as he pulses to the music. 

“Oh yeah?” Kevdonovan says in what he probably assumes a very enticing tone. 

Bucky’s got a good eye for these things, and he doesn’t think Kevdonovan is going to do much more than ogle him and stuff his crotch with increasingly smaller bills, so he doesn’t go onto his next line about how he should go talk to Brock at the table by the cages if he really wants to see Bucky’s moves. 

“Yeah,” he says instead, straightening up and running his hands over his abs as he does this fancy little shuffling move he stole from Robbie. 

As expected, Kevdonovan produces a whopping five dollar bill and allows himself a squeeze this time when he shoves it into Bucky’s shorts.  He gets a winning smile and hooded eyes for his lack of effort, and he drifts away again. 

Bucky sighs internally and keeps dancing.  He just wants to get one of these guys on the hook so they can go back to the hotel and Bucky can lie down for a bit while he gets fucked.  Living without a roommate for the past few days has made him think that he can do things like play video games all day with only a two-hour nap before his shift, and he’s tired as hell. 

“Hey, are you Jack?” a blonde man asks him an eternity later.  It’s probably only been thirty minutes, but Bucky is bored and so ready to sell his ass if it means he can take a reprieve from shaking it. 

He looks closer at blonde guy.  Blonde guy is hot, but Bucky’s fucked hot guys before.  The trick to not really caring when dumpy, middle-aged men with thin hair and thick stomachs pay for his time is to not really care when hot guys pay for it either.  He’s apathetic as long as the guy has the money. 

“I sure am, gorgeous,” he says.  He tries to shimmy and doesn’t think it goes too well.  “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Steve,” blonde guy says.  He holds his hand out like Bucky’s going to touch a client before the guy’s gone through Brock or Cynthia. They sort out the cops and the freaks, so that only serious inquiries make it back to Bucky with the password. 

“Do you have something to share with me?” Bucky asks as he lets Steve’s hand hang in the air.  Eventually, Steve pulls it back with a frown. 

“Uh, your apartment, right?” Steve says with a forehead wrinkle that Bucky will admit under duress is completely adorable. 

“If you want to see my apartment,” and by that he means motel room 5, because there’s no way in Mordor that a client is coming back to Bucky’s, “You’ll need to go talk to that man over there.”  He points in Brock’s direction, but Brock is already pointing at him and mouthing something that Bucky can’t fucking understand. 

“I’m Steve,” Steve tells him again, dumbly.  “Do I have the wrong Jack?”

“Only one Jack here,” Bucky tells him, clamping down on his visible annoyance. 

“I’m supposed to be rooming with you then.  I think,” Steve says, and it finally clicks.  Fucking Brock never gave Bucky the guy’s name. 

“Shit, Steve, sorry,” Bucky tells him as he hops ungracefully down from the platform.  Steve’s presence is an excellent opportunity for a break.  “I thought you were a client.”

“Is that why you were pulling those moves on me?” Steve asks with a grin. 

And yes, Bucky knows his moves are copied and executed with mediocrity, but he still has at least three hundred dollars nestled in with his cock.  And, more importantly, new guys who haven’t even hooked before don’t have any right to give Bucky shit about his dancing. 

He doesn’t say anything as he leads Steve into the break room and bares his ass to the guy as he pushes down his shorts and shakes the bills onto the floor. 

He grabs a fistful of the money and carries it over to the shelf of jars with all the strippers’ names on them.  Then he drops the wad of money into his own jar where the cameras will see him and Cynthia will have no doubts that he’s not trying to pocket his tips before the club can take their cut. 

He’s seen some bad shit happen to boys who tried to stiff Zemo, and he has no intention of ever trying.  He still gets to keep a small percentage of his tips and some of the money he makes on his back, so it’s a livable wage.  And it’s not like he’s trying to put himself through college or support a baby like some of the other guys in here. 

“So, apartment?” Steve asks uncomfortably.  Bucky pulls his shorts back up and scoops up the remaining bills, repeating the process.

“It’s three blocks from here.  Not the best neighborhood, so bring a change of clothes that communicate ‘don’t’ fuck with me’ instead of ‘I get fucked for money.’  You get the smaller bedroom and access to the bathroom, kitchen, living room, and laundry room.  Patio too.  And a closet.  Basically, everything that isn’t my room.” 

Bucky checks his hair in the mirror and tries to fluff it back up.  He’s flattened the back somehow, even though he’s been on his feet the entire night. 

“Rent is an even five hundred for the month.  That includes cable, internet, water, electric, and gym membership.  It’s a shitty gym, though, so you might want to get your own.”  For the first time, Bucky looks at the guy as more than a potential thirty minutes of moaning and grunting while he rests his eyes and puts his feet up. 

Steve looks like he spends an hour pumping weights for every ten minutes that Bucky manages to motivate out of himself.  He’s tall and built, and his face isn’t unattractive. 

It’s expected; Steve, and Bucky, and all the other guys whose bags and make up and clothes Bucky is kicking around – they’re their own window dressing.  They’re expected to be tall and built and pretty, unless they have another aesthetic going for them. 

There’s no bullshit in Bucky’s mind about whether or not he’ll fuck the guy.  He’s fucked roommates before, and landed himself with a boyfriend situation before he knew what was happening.  It’s not on the table, even if Steve does look awfully fuckable. 

“When can I move my stuff in?” Steve asks.  Bucky grabs a paper towel and scrawls the address down before taking his keys out of his backpack. 

“Right now, if you want,” he offers as he throws over the spare key and follows it closely with the address.  “You start work tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, at eight.” 

“Me too.  Why don’t you move your shit in now so you can get some sleep tomorrow?” 

Steve grins at him, and Bucky really wasn’t prepared for how mega-watt huge and glowing his smile turns out to be.  He’ll have to put a ban on that around the apartment. 

“When do you want the money?  Can it wait ‘till the end of the week?” 

“Sure, whenever,” Bucky says.  He knows all of Steve’s coworkers already, so it’s not like it will be hard to shake the guy down if he doesn’t cough up the rent.  “I’m gonna get back out there and hopefully someone bites.” 

“It’s not even ten yet,” Steve says doubtfully.  “They told me that most of…that stuff doesn’t start happening ‘till around midnight.”  

“I’m usually on round two by midnight.  Sometimes three,” Bucky says with a grin when he registers Steve’s slight tremor of nervousness about the added component of this club. 

Steve doesn’t look like he believes him, so Bucky nods his chin at the boards by the break room door.  He’s second-to-last for tips, but solidly in first on the other board.  Steve follows his gaze, and his eyebrows go up when he sees that “Jack” has a solid two grand lead.    

“With those moves?” Steve teases.  It annoys Bucky again, even though he can register that Steve’s trying to be a playful jerk rather than an asshole, so he leaves and goes back to his platform. 

To his surprise, Steve hangs around a little longer.  He moves around the club, looking at all the strippers and the complete set-up, but he seems to linger around Bucky.  Confident that he’s being mocked, but determined to be above it, Bucky makes his moves even more awkward and exaggerated.  He pelvic thrusts in tune with the music and sees Steve laughing at him, so he mouths ‘fuck you’ and redirects his attention to a group of nerdy, engineer-type guys. 

One of them buys, and as he whispers “satin” like he’s bought the keys to the kingdom instead of a bizarrely juvenile code for Brock’s permission to go over to the motel, Steve stares Bucky down.  He’s not grinning anymore, and Bucky wonders if he’s nervous about stepping up his slut game. 

He doesn’t really know what it’s like to start out stripping and find your way, through your own ideas or coercion, into hooking.  After getting kicked out of the Army, disowned, and divorced six years ago, Bucky’d gone straight for the finish line.  It probably didn’t help that his decision-making facilities were completely fucked by the shit he’d been injecting himself with at the time, but he needed someone to physically stop him from wasting away, and that person had, ironically, been a pimp. 

The plan was to get sober, win the husband back, win the parents back, and eke some money out of the Army. 

The husband had moved on, the parents were assholes, and the Army wasn’t budging on dishonorable discharge, but the sobriety had stuck.  He’s still a little shocked. 

He’d bounced around between a few pimps and shady agencies before landing with Zemo, and when they’d presented the little sequined shorts and asked him how good of a dancer he was, he’d understood it correctly to be a mandatory suggestion. 

He wonders vaguely what Steve’s story is and whether he’s a little nervous or terrified out of his mind about taking that last step and selling his ass tomorrow.  He figures that he’ll eventually find out, if they’re going to live together for a month. 

Anyway, Steve is gone when he comes back to the club 42 minutes later, his limbs a little looser and his shorts a little slicker.  He dances just for himself for a few songs before getting bored and setting his sights on luring another one in. 

 

Bucky gets home just before 4:30.  He’s relieved for Steve’s sake that the guy is already normed to stripper hours, because he’s wide awake and inflating an air mattress in the smaller room with an obnoxiously noisy pump. 

“Hey,” Bucky tells him, knocking on the door frame just so Steve knows there’s someone else in apartment. 

“Hey,” Steve says.  He opens his mouth a few times and then frowns. 

“Are you trying to think of the politest way to ask me how many guys?” Bucky asks with a smirk.  Steve blushes but smirks back. 

“Actually yes.” 

“Three actual fucks, two blowjobs,” Bucky says casually.  He keeps a straight face when Steve’s jaw fucking drops. 

“Oh my god, how are you walking??” Steve asks.  He pushes to his feet and then stands there like he doesn’t know what he can possibly do to help Bucky. 

There really isn’t anything.  Bucky’s sore, but he’s good. 

He lets Steve panic a little, then he offers a lifeline. 

“Just so you know, they’ll be happy if you net one a night.  Especially if your tips at the club are good.”

“Are you just really competitive?” Steve asks him, following as Bucky heads for the kitchen to heat up some chicken. 

“I just prefer to spend as little time as possible in that place.  I’m much happier in the motel.  I even have some regulars who don’t care if I watch TV during.”  That seems to boggle Steve again, and Bucky throws his Tupperware of chicken into the microwave while Steve digests that. 

“Relax,” Bucky says when it isn’t funny anymore and Steve seems honestly edgy.  “You’re not a virgin, right?”

“Fuck no,” Steve says with a laugh.  “I’ve been stripping for, like, five years.”

“So it won’t be that bad.  There’s condoms and lube in the rooms.  You can hop in the shower after you finish.  Brock will probably even write you a little sticky note with all the prices for the first couple weeks.  There’s not much to selling your ass if you have a place to do it and a wall of security; we could seriously be much worse off.” 

Steve nods at that, and Bucky takes his chicken out when it starts to sizzle.  He doesn’t bother with a knife, instead just plunging the fork into the chicken and holding the entire piece to his mouth. 

He catches Steve grinning at him from behind his knuckles. 

“Wha?” he says with a full mouth. 

“Just picturing how you look with a dick in your mouth,” Steve says nonchalantly. 

“Fuck you,” Bucky says without heat.  He still doesn’t know if he likes Steve or not, and he’s not going to get into any serious bonding tonight, so he finishes his food and goes into his room to sleep. 

He hears Steve going in and out of the apartment, schlepping boxes between his new room and some car in the parking lot, before he falls asleep around five. 

 

Bucky and Steve walk to work together.  It’s awkward, and they don’t really talk about much besides the local geography. 

Steve’s sequined shorts are red, white, and blue, and Bucky snorts when he sees them. 

He doesn’t really know what type of stripper Steve is.  He knows the guy is good, but that’s about it. 

Steve joins in the push for the mirror, but he’s actually a head taller and a hand broader than most of the other guys, so he doesn’t have to jab his elbows into anyone’s side to get his time.  He basically stands off to the side and sprays his dad hair into place, then rubs himself down with body oil.  Bucky steals the bottle blatantly and reads the label. 

“And you wanna smell like apple, why?” 

“Signature scent,” Steve says with a shrug.  Bucky thinks about it while he stretches against the wall, and then he turns to Steve with a wicked grin.

“Do you put it on to smell as American as apple pie?” 

“No, but I might use that from now on,” Steve tells him with a smile.  The barometer of Bucky’s good graces are staring to point towards “yes” for Steve, but he’ll give it a few more days before he decides if Brock has done him a favor or screwed him royally. 

Steve picks a platform by the door, and Bucky nearly freezes when he sees Steve go to work.  While Bucky does a good imitation of a seizing gazelle when he dances, Steve looks like he’s the go-go boy after whom _all_ go-go boys are fashioned.  Within minutes, every head in the club is turned to the new talent, and Steve looks completely oblivious, smiling at the men in his immediate circle but unable to register how stunning he is on a larger scale. 

It’s the kind of thing that would make Bucky jealous if he had any pride in his own skills on the platform.  Instead he just laughs at the audacity of Steve’s ass to come in on his first night and just meld with the music like that.  Bucky doesn’t even mind the peppy racket so much as he sees Steve dance like this music is worth dancing to, and like that platform is worth dancing on, and like those shorts are worth the itchiness they’re no doubt inflicting on his junk. 

Doubtlessly, the other boys will be jealous.  Bucky witnesses multiple men make their way over to Brock to ask for the password to take Steve to the motel, but Brock’s pitching him as hard to get.  He bets that Steve will sell for a disgusting amount of money around midnight, so he steps up his own game because damn if he’s going to let Steve top both boards from the get-go. 

 

He’s already sucked one guy off and ridden another guy like a bronco by the time Brock comes over to him. 

“I have a weird request,” he tells Bucky.  Bucky reads it as a sign that he can give his ass cheeks a rest, so he abandons all pretenses of twerking and just shifts his feet back and forth to the music. 

“What do you want?” he asks, because the last time Brock wanted to talk to him, he’d stuck Bucky with the guy who made him wait twenty minutes to shower this afternoon. 

“’Lucas’ is going to take his first appointment.  Can you go in with him?”

“Tag team?” Bucky asks.  The music switches to something slower, and he brings his arms up to get in on the swaying. 

“Nah, just help us sell the first time for pay thing.  He’s nervous and probably not that great at it, and the guy won’t care if he gets to think that he’s getting some special prize.” 

“Wait, what do you want me to do?” Bucky asks as Brock starts to walk away like that’s enough information to go on. 

“Just go in with him.  Talk to ‘em both, maybe pretend to be turned on.  Make sure Lucas knows where everything is.”  Bucky frowns; it isn’t his problem if Steve can’t handle whoring, and he’s already been talked through everything. 

“Is this a-”

“Mandatory suggestion,” Brock interrupts.  He turns on his heel and heads back for his table, and Bucky sighs.  He’s getting pretty sick of mandatory suggestions. 

He heads over to Steve, and Steve nods at him.  Apparently, he’s already been informed.  Whereas Bucky would look annoyed, Steve looks relieved at his presence. 

From up close, Steve is even more impressive.  His hips neither lie nor quit, and even Bucky, who’s seen some fine asses in his day, kind of wants to get a hand on Steve’s. 

The guy comes over looking like he’s won Publisher’s Clearing House, and he forgets that he’s supposed to whisper the password.  He blurts out, “Handcuffs,” as he practically grabs Steve and drags him off the platform.

“Hey,” Bucky calls, and eager beaver turns back to look at him.  He looks annoyed until he sees Bucky’s own smooth, toned chest and his shorts that…really fucking complement Steve’s. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the chaperone would be so yummy,” he says with a pathetic eyebrow wiggle.  Bucky smiles his “business” smile, not his “pleasure” smile, because his ass isn’t on deck, is it? 

“Let’s go,” Steve says impatiently, forgetting to coo over the client, and call him pet names, and even look at him as he hightails it for the back door. 

The two guards at the back door whistle when the three of them step out into the night.

“Now this looks like a good time,” Sam catcalls them.  Bucky flips him off behind his back where the client won’t see. 

Steve ignores them and looks like he’s ready to sprint for the room.  The client seems taken aback at his attitude, and Bucky sighs, knowing that Steve’s either going to be really appreciative or really pissed. 

“Hey, I’m Jack,” he flirts.  Eager beaver looks confused about which one of them he’s supposed to pay attention to, and even Steve turns his head back.  “I’m Lucas’s mentor.  He’s pretty new at this,” Bucky says, biting his lip when he finishes his sentence and letting his eyes roam over the guy’s average and unimpressive form like it makes him hot. 

Steve’s stopped power walking, and he finally turns all the way around.  The guy’s attention is completely focused on Bucky’s mouth when he speaks again. 

“Lucas, c’mere,” Bucky calls, and Steve stands there woodenly before heading back to the pair. 

“Remember, Lucas,” Bucky says as he slips around eager beaver and plasters himself to the man’s back, “He’s paying for your time.  You have to,” he takes a breath as he runs his fingers down the man’s chest, “treat him good before you even get through that door.” 

Steve’s looking at him like he’s about to go complain to Brock that Bucky’s stealing his client.  Bucky sighs internally and crooks his fingers at Steve.  ‘Come here, asshole,’ he mouths. 

Steve drifts closer and Bucky grabs his shoulders when he’s near enough.  He uses the leverage to pull Steve flush against eager beaver’s front, so they’re sandwiching the lucky bastard between their hard bodies. 

“Introduce yourself,” Bucky says in an undertone as he digs his thumbs into eager beaver’s neck, massaging lightly enough that it shouldn’t distract the man from Steve. 

“Hi,” Steve tells him softly.  He sounds like a freshman picking up his date for the dance.  “I’m Lucas.”  He smiles at eager beaver, and it’s just devastating enough to distract the man from the fact that Steve is looking into Bucky’s face and waiting for his next cue. 

Bucky shouldn’t have to do this, but he’s already stepped up.  He doesn’t think anyone at the club was prepared for how uncomfortable Steve feels doing this, and his stomach twists a little at the idea that Steve might not _want_ to do this.

Not that any of the guys want to go to bed with men like eager beaver, but they’re willing.  The benefit exceeds the cost, and they accept this. 

He wonders again what Steve’s story is.  How did he end up here, and why did he agree to do this if he can’t even fake a little enthusiasm for the client? 

“Baby, go ahead to room seven and make yourself comfortable.  It’s open already.  I need to talk to Lucas for a second,” Bucky says between small, wet kisses against the man’s neck.  Reluctantly, eager beaver slips out between the two of them.  He looks back and adjusts himself in his pants as he heads for the door marked with a crooked “7.” 

“What’s your plan here, Steve?” Bucky drops the act as soon as he’s far enough away. 

“What plan?”

“Your plan for what you’re going to do in that motel room?” Bucky asks testily.  He can’t believe this shit.  “Are you just going to drop your pants and lie on the bed?” 

Steve’s silence confirms that Bucky’s not far from the truth.

“Shit, Steve, he can go to a street corner for that.  You gotta be nice to him; that’s why he’s paying four hundred for your ass.”

“Brock said it wasn’t anything special,” Steve says stubbornly. 

“Why are you arguing with me?” Bucky asks incredulously.  “I know this business, and I’m obviously good at it.  The clientele expects some flirting.  It’s not that hard; call him baby, touch him a little, act like you actually want to be in the same room with him.  It takes practically zero effort when you get used to it, and it’s a hell of a lot better than being complained about.”

“What happens if you get a complaint?”

“Bad shit,” Bucky says, deadpan.  He doesn’t know what Steve expects; it’s not like there’s an HR department looking out for their sparkly rear ends.

“Have you ever gotten a complaint?”

“Not at one of Zemo’s places,” is all that Bucky is willing to say.  Steve looks at him calculatingly, and Bucky’s near the end of his rope. 

“Look, go in there and pretend that you really want to be fucked, and especially by that guy.  Act like he rocks your fucking world.  He’s already paid for you tonight; the point is to make him want to pay for you a week or a month down the road, because he can’t stop thinking about how much you made him feel like a man.” 

Steve nods at him, but doesn’t move.

“Can you be a little bit more clear-”

“For fuck’s sake, loosen up and go get handsy with him!” Bucky barks.  Steve apparently responds well to direct orders, because he turns smartly on his heel and follows eager beaver to the room. 

Bucky looks back at Sam, who grins at him.  He holds his hands up in the universal symbol of ‘what the fuck are we going to do with him?’ and then follows the horny man and the clueless hooker into what’s probably going to be the most awkward voyeuristic experience of his life.

 

Steve’s already naked when he gets into the room, but at least he’s not playing opossum on the queen-sized bed.  Eager beaver is sitting in the chair with his pants around his ankles, and Steve is leaning over him with his hand down the man’s boxers. 

Bucky had been planning to take the chair, but he leans against the dresser with the outdated television instead.  He watches Steve get the guy hard and then let himself be manhandled onto the bed.  Eager beaver pushes Steve onto his stomach before poking at his ass cheeks.

“You remember where the lube is, Lucas?” Bucky asks, more as a reminder to eager beaver that there’s no way he’s sticking that thing in Steve dry.  Steve rolls over to the bedside table and grabs supplies, while the man looks back at Bucky. 

“You can touch yourself,” he tells Bucky overconfidently. 

“Was going to anyway,” Bucky drawls, putting his hand over his own cock but having no intention of getting off to Steve’s clumsy first attempt at selling his ass.  There’s nothing attractive in the scenario; eager beaver isn’t the type of guy Bucky would ever get it up for if currency weren’t changing hands, and while Steve admittedly looks pretty hot with the guy’s fingers pushing into his chiseled ass, there’s nothing titillating in his hesitancy. 

The guy pushes in five minutes later, and Bucky takes mental notes on Steve’s form and what he’s saying.  More accurately, on what he’s not saying; he needs to bitch at Steve about keeping a steady stream of praise on his lips when he’s getting pounded. 

Bucky goes for the chair so he can put his feet up.  He watches Steve lie there like a limp rag while eager beaver thrusts into him, and Bucky sighs. 

Right before the guy finishes, Steve turns his head and Bucky can finally catch his eye.  ‘Talk’ he mouths, pantomiming something coming out of his mouth. 

“Oh, that feels so good,” Steve says woodenly.  Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, right there,” he adds.  His complete lack of enthusiasm makes Bucky cringe. 

 

“You’re a terrible hooker,” Bucky tells him when they’re walking home several hours later.  Brock hadn’t made Steve take any more clients that night, and Bucky hadn’t confided in Brock how epically awful Steve’s performance had been.  He’s playing with an idea in his head, and he’s withholding telling Brock until he works it out. 

“You’re a terrible stripper,” Steve retorts amicably. 

“I get by,” Bucky argues.  He’s not really offended by the statement so much as he is annoyed that Steve’s trying to compare the two things. 

“I’m good enough to bring in clients for the main event,” he says after thinking for a minute.  “You, on the other hand, are treating the stripping like the main event and the hooking like a punishment.  You don’t want the reputation of being an ice princess, believe me.” 

“I’m used to stripping being the main event.  The only event.” 

“Well, it isn’t now.  Whatever your sob story is, and we all have one, you work for Zemo, and you’re going to have to step it up to protect yourself.”  Steve gives him a measuring look.

“Why do you give a shit?”

“Because you’re an embarrassment to rent boys everywhere,” Bucky tells him flatly. 

“You seem to have a lot of pride in your craft,” Steve tells him sarcastically, and Bucky’s switch flips from “pitying” to “annoyed” for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I have pride in having an income, and having a place with my name on the lease, yes.  I have pride in being sober, and pride in being self-sufficient.  So you can fuck off,” he warns. 

“You can get those things another way.”

“Well, I didn’t, and neither did you.  I seriously hope you’re not about to get self-righteous on me, because I’m the guy who watched you get fucked like a sad blow-up doll tonight.  You don’t have a high horse to get on around me.” 

Bucky speeds up, the apartment complex in sight. 

“I didn’t have a choice, Jack,” Steve calls from behind him, and Bucky sighs.  He stops and waits for Steve to catch up. 

“First of all, my real name’s Bucky.  Second, what kind of trouble are you in?” he asks. 

Steve doesn’t respond. 

“Because I should know if I’m living with you.” 

Again, Steve keeps mum. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.  You look healthy enough; no one’s beat the shit out of you lately, and you’re not zonked out of your mind.” 

“Can you leave it?” Steve asks as they turn into the complex. 

“Is it serious enough that to fuck up at this job would be an issue?”

“Yes,” Steve tells him with conviction.

“Then be better at your job,” Bucky lightly shoves his shoulder.  He takes his keys out and unlocks the door while Steve looks behind them and makes sure they weren’t followed. 

Bucky throws the keys into the bowl by the door and makes his way to the kitchen.  Steve disappears while Bucky warms up soup and eats it standing at the counter while flipping through some store ads, but he reappears as Bucky is loading his bowl into the dishwasher. 

“Would they really come at me for something like tonight?”

“Of course.  You were lame in the sack, and if he were in a bad mood, all he’d have to do is say the word to Brock or Cynthia.”

“They don’t seem that bad,” Steve says as he goes into the fridge for his own cold cuts. 

“Don’t underestimate them.  They’re not friendly people when they’re feeling correctional.”  That makes Steve look up at him while he shoves slices of ham into his mouth. 

“Was there a bread shortage?” Bucky asks sardonically.  Steve ignores him.

“So how am I supposed to do it?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Bucky explodes.  “I already talked you through this, and I gave you clear instructions.  I even tried to help out while you were in it!  Were you not listening?”

“I heard you, but I don’t know what it looks like.  I haven’t been around-”

“You’ve been around strippers, and that’s close enough.  I saw you dancing tonight.  You can do the wanton, flirty thing just fine when you’re up on a platform with that fucking music everywhere.” 

Steve shrugs.

“It’s like a performance when I’m in front of people.  I didn’t realize how different it would be with one guy, all up close like that.” 

“That’s stupid,” Bucky tells him, because it’s the complete opposite of how he feels. 

“How’d you learn?” Steve asks, but Bucky is already putting the lid back on his pathetic dinner and throwing it in the fridge.

“Wash your hands,” he tells Steve. He’s made his decision, and he has no idea if it’s a good one. 

“Why?”

“Because they smell like ham!”  Steve blinks at him and then turns to do what he says. 

Bucky takes a breath and tries to estimate how long this will take.  He’s really ready to pass out, but he’s not sending Steve back to the club before he’s been schooled, and he doesn’t want to get fucked before he even goes into work tomorrow. 

“You’re a client, I’m me,” he tells Steve.

“What?” Steve asks dumbly, still standing at the sink.  Then Bucky gets his hand on the back of Steve’s neck and squeezes.

“Hi,” he says shyly, leaning in to lick the corner of Steve’s jaw. 

“What the?” Steve asks.  “Just because I’m crashing with you doesn’t mean we’re fuck buddies.”

“We’re _not_ fuck buddies.  You’re a client, and I’m me,” Bucky nearly growls.  Why is he even bothering? 

“What?”

“I’m showing you what I do, dumbass!  This is how I was taught.  Just act like a horny, cocky asshole who’s taking me back to the room.”

“Your room or my room?”

“I don’t care.  My room,” Bucky growls, before he goes back to his Jack mentality.  He trails his pointer finger down Steve’s spine all the way to his ass, and then grabs a handful. 

“Are we actually having sex, or just pretending?” Steve asks. 

“I will evict you if you ask one more stupid question,” Bucky tells him.  Then he reaches around to grab Steve’s dick through the front of his jeans. 

“Shit, I wasn’t expecting that,” he says breathily.  He’d seen Steve’s monster cock just a few hours ago, so that’s part of the act too. 

“Uhhh,” is all that Steve says.  Bucky breaks character one more time.

“Thank fuck we’re not teaching you to be a john,” he says, then he turns Steve around and pushes him against the sink. 

“I just want a taste,” he says as he sinks to his knees and unfastens Steve’s jeans, pulling his cock out with light fingers.  Steve’s eyes are wide above him, and from this angle, he’s haloed by the flickering kitchen light.  “Please baby, just a taste.  I’ll be quick.” 

With that, he flicks his tongue out against the soft head of Steve’s cock.  He notices that it’s already completely hard just from his touching and bitching, and he smiles wickedly up at Steve as he slides his mouth onto his cock, swallowing half of him and bringing his hand up to squeeze the part he hasn’t gotten to yet. 

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes, his eyes already fluttering closed. 

“You like that?” Bucky pulls off to ask, leaving the head of Steve’s cock against his wet bottom lip.

“Obviously.”

“Then you’ll love this, baby,” Bucky tells him.  Then he swallows the whole damn thing and presses his nose against Steve’s trimmed, but still scratchy, hairs just above his cock. 

Steve croaks.  Bucky almost loses his composure and smirks around the cock stretching and stuffing his mouth. 

He trails his fingers up and down Steve’s thighs, taking note of the little tremors under his fingertips, before taking hold of Steve’s balls and tugging softly. 

He pushes his face forward and feels Steve’s cock nudge the back of his throat.  He can control his gag reflex normally, but right now, he’s going for a little gagging.  Men always like to feel like they’re just too big, even for an experienced cocksucker like Jack. 

Fully conscious of the trail of drool connecting his mouth to Steve’s cock, he pulls back and looks up at Steve through his dark eyelashes. 

“Can’t have you going off yet before I get to ride this thing,” he says with an indecent grin.

“Hookers actually talk like that?” Steve says, caught between laughing at Bucky and gasping at the feeling of a hand squeezing his balls gently. 

“Let me take you back to my room so we can have some fun,” Bucky tells him as he straightens up and plucks at Steve’s shirt.  “Follow me, tiger.” 

“I thought we were already in ‘the room,’” Steve says from behind him, and somehow, Bucky knows he just used air quotes. 

“The other room,” he mocks Steve, still using his sultriest voice.  He shoulders the door to his own bedroom open and immediately notices that he left for work in the middle of cleaning mode. There’s a basket of dirty laundry waiting for him on his bed, and he crawls onto the bed to shove it off quickly. 

“That’s how hookers get rid of laundry baskets?” Steve asks with a smirk, but Bucky doesn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“How’d you want me?” he asks from the bed, popping the button on his jeans and sliding the zipper down patiently tooth by tooth. 

Steve doesn’t answer him, just stands there with his hand cupping his own dick and looking at Bucky like he might be a trap. 

“You don’t actually have to fuck me to teach me, dude,” he says.  Irritation flutters at Bucky’s ribs, but he ignores it. 

“Out of all the guys in there, I was really hoping to see you,” he says with measured and practiced honesty. 

“All the guys in our kitchen?” Steve asks with a smirk, but he drops his hand and comes forward, sliding his hand up Bucky’s thigh and finally getting into it. 

“Yeah, all of them.  So what are you in the mood for?”

“Craziest thing you got,” Steve dares him with another smirk.  The mischievousness lights up his eyes, and Bucky’s answering smile isn’t part of the act. 

Not that Steve has to know that.

“Sorry, baby.  I don’t want you to break the bank over this, and I’m not sure you’re ready for my craziest.” 

“That was a really nice let down,” Steve tells him.  He pushes Bucky to the bed and runs his eyes over the strip of skin showing where Bucky’s shirt is riding up. 

“You wanna fuck me like this?  Look at my face and see how much I’m loving your cock?”

“Okie dokie,” Steve answers, and Bucky does laugh then.  He keeps it as sultry as possible as he shucks his pants off.

“Shirt too,” Steve requests, and Bucky loses it a second later. 

“There’s condoms and lube in the drawer,” he tells him, chest heaving like he’s out of his head with lust.  Steve grabs them and kicks his own pants and shirt off before settling over Bucky. 

Their faces are inches apart, and Steve looks down at him for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.  It’s nice, as kisses go.  Steve is both passionate and courteous, and despite tasting like ham, Bucky doesn’t mind swapping some spit.  He tastes like dick, after all. 

“Okay, so do we usually do this, or does the client?” Steve asks when he finally breaks the kiss several minutes later.  Bucky’s a little embarrassed by how long he let it play out, but he focuses on the question and the lube in Steve’s hand. 

“You want me to get ready for you, or do you want to do it?” Bucky asks, biting his lip and rolling his neck. 

“Can you pretend I said the most common answer?”  Bucky takes the lube in response.  “Interesting.” 

Steve pulls back to watch Bucky slick his fingers and slide three inside. 

“Holy shit,” Steve exhales.  Bucky meets his eyes and shrugs.  “How many guys did you do tonight?”

“Don’t worry about them baby,” Bucky soothes.  He’ll tell Steve the answer later. 

“Let me finish you then.”  Steve bats Bucky’s hand away and sinks his own quickly slicked fingers in, angling them for Bucky’s prostate with an instinct that clients never seem to have, even the ones who do care if he gets off. 

Bucky moans when Steve’s fingers find that spot, and only half of it is faked.  Steve’s fingers are literally the perfect length to rub against his prostate while his thumb massages Bucky’s perineum.    

His cock perks up at the idea that he’s finally going to have some good sex after several months of dry spells in his personal sex life.  His work sex and his personal sex are completely different, and one feels a hell of a lot better than the other. 

He feels uncomfortable mixing them like this, though, so he shuts it down before his cock gets too confused.

“I’m ready, baby,” he tells Steve.

“Are you sure?  Because you sound like you’re enjoying this just fine.”

“Come on, fuck me.  Fill me up and give it to me.”  He grabs Steve’s wrist and frees his fingers then pulls him bodily forward. 

“I’m ready, come on, give it to me,” he pants, tilting his hips up and flicking the condom that Steve should already have on to the blonde. 

Steve stares at him for another second before blinking rapidly and grabbing the condom.  Bucky continues the slutty monologue of fuck me, come on, put it in me until Steve does all of those things. 

He slides right into Bucky, gasping at how little resistance Bucky’s tired and fucked-out body offers against him.  Bucky whimpers and clenches his muscles around Steve, making him stutter as he tries to find a rhythm. 

“Okay, you’re really fucking pro at this,” Steve comments as Bucky thrusts up to meet him, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and moaning every time Steve bottoms out. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” Bucky breathes, running his hand over Steve’s stomach and pinching a taught nipple.  “Come on, don’t stop, fuck me!”  He makes the mistake of looking Steve in the eyes while he’s saying all of this, and it’s hard to look away.  There’s something in Steve’s eyes that isn’t there with clients, and he’s aware that he’s still blurring personal and professional. 

He forces his eyes shut and darts his tongue out to lick the cleft of his lips. 

“Feels so good,” he murmurs. 

“Do you usually come when you’re with clients?” Steve asks, husky, against his ear.  He opens his eyes again to see that Steve’s even closer, and Bucky can practically taste the sweat starting to shine on his cheek as he answers. 

“No, but I don’t think I have a choice right now.” 

He reaches down and gets a hand on his own cock, but Steve pushes him aside after two strokes. 

“Want to touch you,” he practically whispers into Bucky’s ear.  Finally he’s getting it. 

“Mmm, touch me,” Bucky echoes, straining his head back to put the cords of his neck on display.  As predicted, Steve tongues at them as he pumps Bucky faster and firmer. 

“Yes, yes, baby,” Bucky practically squeals, confident that he’s probably going to wake up the sexually frustrated adolescent boy on the other side of his bedroom wall.  It serves the kid right for jacking off morning, noon, and night in Bucky’s earshot.    

“I’m gonna come,” Steve tells him through clenched teeth. 

“Me too, I’m gonna come too.”

“Don’t stop…don’t stop doing that,” Steve pants as he shoves his face into Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Bucky,” he groans a minute later, and his shoulders tense beneath Bucky’s fingers as his orgasm sweeps over him.  Bucky doesn’t remember grabbing his shoulders, but it’s giving him some great leverage for fucking himself on Steve’s still-hard cock. 

“Almost there,” he grunts.  That’s not really in the script, but he’s chasing a beautiful orgasm, and he can feel it building in his spine.  It’d be a tragedy if Steve were to pull away now. 

Luckily, Steve doesn’t.  He fumbles for Bucky’s jaw and licks into Bucky’s mouth, twisting their tongues together and tickling Bucky’s palate. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Bucky orders.  He can tell that Steve’s energy and his dick are flagging, but he just needs another-

He comes with an actual gasp, not expecting the hot, sparking feeling to slam into him and ripple out to his fingers and toes. 

“ _Mmmmff_ ,” he says as he flops backwards, his spine jelly-like and his heart honestly racing.  Steve laughs and rolls off him. 

“’Mmmmff?’” he mocks.  “That’s how you make Zemo and Brock the big bucks?”  Bucky catches his breath and smacks at Steve’s chest. 

“Shut up.”

“Are you still Jack, or are you Bucky again?”

“Shut up,” he repeats, because he doesn’t want to admit that he stopped being Jack earlier than the _mmmmff._   Steve tries to take his hand and he pulls it back. 

“Go finish eating your sandwich piece by piece.” 

“You don’t want to cuddle?” Steve teases. 

“Hookers don’t cuddle,” he says derisively. 

“But I thought-” Steve starts before Bucky interrupts him. 

“Out, out, out.  I want to sleep.” 

“I’ll get you a washcloth,” Steve says as he stands up and cracks his back, making Bucky wince at the sound. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky tells him, but he comes back a minute later with a damp cloth anyway. 

“Thanks,” he huffs as he shifts to wipe his stomach and his ass, appreciative of the fact that Steve took the time to run the water warm before dipping the cloth. 

“Well, uh, thanks for the lesson,” Steve says sheepishly.  A blush starts to crest on his cheeks like he hadn’t just fucked Bucky into the best orgasm he’s probably had in years. 

“One time deal, you know that, right?” Bucky checks. 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says too quickly, and Bucky purses his lips as he considers him.  And as he slowly, reluctantly recasts him in his head from ‘awkward colleague and roommate’ to ‘mentee and new friend.’ 

And, possibly, potentially, something else in the distant future. 

Bucky isn’t ready to consider that, though.  They’ve still only known each other a few days, and he doesn’t know Steve’s story, and he has his rules for very specific reasons.  ‘No fucking roommates,’ ‘keep work sex and fun sex separate,’ and ‘don’t ever get involved with someone else in the life.’ 

Way too soon for that. 

“Seriously, I’m going to sleep,” Bucky says as he tosses the washcloth to the ground with a squelch.  “Hit the lights.”  He sees Steve’s grin widen into teeth before he flicks the light switch and the room goes dark. 

“Night, Bucky,” Steve tells him. 

“Whatever,” Bucky mumbles back.  He thinks he hears Steve laugh at him as he shuts the door. 

 

Bucky wakes up six hours later to the sounds of dubstep pouring through his thin door. 

“What the fuck?” he growls, disoriented, because he has to listen to this six nights a week at the club, and this is his home.  He throws the covers back, steps on the disgusting and still damp washcloth from last night, and throws the door open so that there’s fewer obstacles between his hands and Steve’s neck. 

Steve is grinning cheekily at him in the living room, wearing just a pair of navy blue underwear and fiddling with the iPod on the speaker. 

“Morning,” he says.  Bucky glares. 

“Why?” he demands, too freshly conscious to finish the question. 

“Go put underwear on,” Steve tells him, and Bucky realizes that he’s still naked from last night.  “Something tight, kinda like the shorts from work.”

“Why?” Bucky practically whines, rage deflating the more he wakes up. 

Steve just grins at him and starts to pulse to the obnoxious beat. 

“It’s your turn, padawan,” he says like a giant dork, and Bucky’s ire completely melts.  “I’m gonna teach you how to dance.” 

Then he drops it like it’s hot in Bucky’s messy living room, and it’s simultaneously the dumbest and hottest thing Bucky has ever seen. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [America's Got Talent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258347) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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